Page 12 of A Wilde Christmas

Rowan fucking Bristow.

The spoiled princess who was obnoxiously stubborn and always thought she was right. She was also drop-dead gorgeous—which she knew and flaunted.

Thatwas why Greer’s eyes had twinkled when he mentioned the email. He knew Davey and Rowan were oil and water.

Or more like nitro and dynamite.

Whenever they got together, there were explosions.

And, somehow, they always ended up naked together when the dust cleared.

Fuck.

Did Greer know?

Or, worse, did Gabe Bristow know?

No. Rowan’s scary-ass father couldn’t know about their on-and-off hate-fuck relationship. It had started several years ago as a way to scratch an itch without risking messy emotions. If Gabe Bristow knew about it, Davey would be the last person he’d want protecting his precious little girl.

Davey growled and tossed the phone into the cupholder.

Luka cocked his head, his hazel eyes sharp and assessing.

“I’m not going to lose my shit,” he assured the dog.

Luka looked unconvinced and laid his head on the center console.

Davey shut his eyes and rubbed at his neck. His lip throbbed, and a tension headache lodged at the base of his skull. First, the thing with Cade, and now this? How was he supposed to protect Miss Warrior Princessandkeep his family from falling apart? He was a SEAL, not a superhero.

Okay, one thing at a time.

The only easy day was yesterday, and he could handle this.

But, right now, Rowan owed him some fucking answers.

seven

Davey was in a surly mood.

Rowan Bristow sensed it the moment he stepped into his apartment with his loyal dog trailing behind him.

Well, shit. This put a serious damper on her Christmas Eve plans. She didn’t want to fight with him tonight. She wanted sex. He had promised her sex.

“What?” She crossed her arms defensively over her chest. “Family time didn’t go well?”

“The tree didn’t stay up,” he muttered.

She snorted a laugh. “Is it even a Wilde family Christmas if the tree stays upright?” She could feel his simmering anger like a heat wave as he strode past her to the kitchen and poured himself a drink, the liquid sloshing against the side of the glass. “Sheesh, Wilde. What bug crawled up your ass and died?”

He downed his drink on one breath, then faced her again, a scowl marring his handsome face. His lip was swollen and split open, which somehow only added to his appeal.

“Why the fuck doesn’t your father know where you are?” he demanded.

Shock coursed through her. Of all the things she had expected him to say, that hadn’t been anywhere on the list. She quickly covered her surprise and scowled right back at him. “Because I don’t want him to know.”

“You don’t want him to know you’re here fucking me.”

“He doesn’t need to know who I’m fucking. But,” she added with a smirk, “he’d definitely kill you if he did.”

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